Speak
by CharlieCaller
Summary: Set when the turtles are younger. Mikey gets a helping hand from his brothers when he tries to learn to talk.


Disclaimer: I do not own the following characters in this story: They belong to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and related companies. I am not profiting from borrowing them briefly for this story.

Notes: I am still writing 'What's Your Poison?', it is a WIP and will be updated soon, but this one wouldn't leave me alone. Feedback is always appreciated, but I just hope you like it.

**

* * *

**

**Speak******

The turtles were reaching their fourth year living in the underground lair with their father and sensei, a rat by the name of Splinter. Having been soaked in mutating ooze almost immediately after their birth, the four had been given qualities that were unlike those of any other turtle on the earth. The turtles had firstly surprised the aged rat by walking on their two back legs, something that Splinter had also been able to do. Finding that all five of the creatures had physiological abilities similar to those of humans, Splinter began to teach his sons the art of ninjitsu. He had learnt such skills from his human master Yoshi, and passed them on to the turtles, knowing that in future they would need some kind of training if they were to survive in the cruel world.

Splinter thought that for the young creatures, the skills would be tough to master, and it would take a considerable time for them to memorise and repeat the abilities. But, once again to Splinter's surprise, the turtles learnt the basic manoeuvres quickly and were eager to learn more. Splinter refused to teach them much more at that time, though, as he knew that their bodies were far from being fully developed, and more advanced skills might cause the children a serious injury if they were to attempt them.

A third surprise in store for Splinter was the turtles' ability to speak. They picked up some of the Japanese language from Splinter, and some English from watching the television. Once Splinter realised that the turtles were mastering both languages, he decided to address them mostly in English, so as to teach them the language of the country they resided in.

Donatello was the first of the four young turtles to speak. Although Splinter was surprised that when he realised that one of his young sons had spoken, he understood how this particular son would be the first to grasp articulation. Splinter observed Donatello carefully, and noticed his advanced intelligence. Splinter often scavenged for toys and games to keep the youngsters amused, and would occasionally bring back incomplete jigsaw puzzles, not really expecting the turtles to complete them, but more to understand how the pieces fitted together. Only, when Donatello played with the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle, he would complete them all, save for any missing pieces. He would then slide a white sheet of paper underneath the puzzle, and would draw in the missing parts on the paper. As Splinter watched, he was both fascinated and astounded.

Leonardo and Raphael began to speak at roughly the same time, not long after Donatello. It was to be expected, really, as almost immediately they spoke their first words, they were arguing with each other. They had to begin speaking at about the same time in order to retaliate to one another with verbal responses.

"Pig!"

"Bully!"

"Jerk!"

"Idiot!"

"Kiss-up!"

"Ninja dunce!"

"Enough!" As much as Splinter loved to hear the voices of his young sons, there were times when he had to draw the line, before things got too out of hand.

What fascinated Splinter also was how his sons had very different tones of voice. Leonardo spoke clearly, firmly, and with the voice of someone who was always in control. At times he was short and to the point, but Splinter knew this was a leadership quality shining through.

Donatello's voice was a little like Leonardo's, but he was more softly spoken. He would also get a little more excited and his voice higher in pitch during his great scientific discoveries, such as when he determined how the microwave heated the food from the inside out, and how putting metal objects in that same microwave would instigate huge amounts of chaos and a trip to the junkyard.

Raphael had a strong Brooklyn accent, a tone unlike any of his brothers. He gained this accent from crawling through the sewers and sitting beneath grates in the Brooklyn area, listening to conversations of the humans above for hours. He liked the accent and adopted it, but at the same time adopted a few of the cruder words and phrases that some of the humans used in day-to-day conversation, which greatly displeased his Sensei.

Donatello's microwave experiments and Raphael's colourful language were actually the least of Splinter's worries. What concerned the rat the most was his youngest son, Michelangelo, and the fact that he had not uttered one single comprehendible word in his life. Months after his three brothers had grasped the concept of language, Michelangelo was still communicating through short sounds, gurgles and murmurs. He would utter noises, and through only body language could the others understand what he was trying to say. Splinter knew that Michelangelo could hear and understand others speaking well enough - one only need witness his orange-banded son's swift sprint from the television to the dining table to know that he most _definitely _understood the word "lunchtime."

Most of the time, Splinter got the impression that Michelangelo was not particularly bothered about talking. He spent his days either watching the television, or being told what to play by his older brothers. But sometimes, Splinter would sense the frustration in the features of his son, and realise that choosing to remain silent was not an option for Michelangelo, but he simply could not speak.

Michelangelo was not the only one frustrated by his inability to talk. His brothers too were becoming vexed by this - they could all talk, so why couldn't he?

"We gotta make Mikey talk," Leonardo decided, there and then. He, Donatello and Raphael were sat in a corner of the living room, away from Mikey who was colouring at the dining table, whilst Splinter sat in his armchair, reading a book.

"How? He just makes funny baby noises," Raphael complained, folding his arms and pouting.

"How 'bout we ask him some questions? Then he'll have to talk," Donatello said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What should we ask him?" Raphael asked

"Anything! Just make sure he answers."

"Hey, Mikey, get yer butt over here!" Raphael yelled across the room.

"Raphael, please! We do not address one another in such a manner," Splinter admonished. "Please rephrase your request."

Raphael did not understand all the words that Splinter had used, but he got the general idea. "Erm, Mikey, could you come over here, please?"

"Better," Splinter said, satisfied, before turning back to his book.

Mikey mutely obliged, standing up from his drawing and padding over to where his brothers sat. Though he trusted his brothers, he was somewhat cautious of this demand of his presence. The last time that had happened, he had been pelted with water balloons. He became even more uneasy when, upon sitting cross-legged on the floor, his three brothers stared at him for a moment with wide and enquiring eyes.

"Go on, ask him something," Leonardo commanded, eventually breaking the silence.

"Okay," Raphael said uncertainly. "Mikey, do you like pizza?"

Michelangelo plastered a wide grin on his face and nodded vigorously.

"You can't ask him that, shell-for-brains! It has to be a question that doesn't have a yes or no answer, or he'll just nod or shake his head!" Donatello cried in exasperation.

"Hey! Don't call names!" Raphael folded his arms and sulked for a moment.

Leonardo ignored Raphael's mood and focused on the task at hand. "All right, Mikey, which kind of pizza do you like best?"

Michelangelo sat in thought for a moment, before answering, "arh!" He spread his arms out wide as he made the sound.

Donatello could not help but smile. "I think he says, 'all.' He likes them all best." Michelangelo nodded in agreement.

"He just don't get it," Raphael said dejectedly. He turned directly to Michelangelo and pleaded, "C'mon, Mikey, you gotta talk!"

As Raphael implored his bewildered brother, Leonardo turned to Donatello and asked, "Donny, why can't he talk like us? Us three can speak okay, not like Master Splinter, but we talk okay. Why can't Mikey say any words?"

"I don't know, Leo," Donny admitted. "He is littler than the rest of us, so maybe he needs more time."

"Will he ever talk?"

"I guess so." As an afterthought, he added, "I hope so."

_As do I, my son_, Splinter thought sadly as listened to the conversation from his chair, having temporarily abandoned his book. _I hope so too, very much._

Over the next few days, the three older turtles made it their mission to get their youngest brother to talk. They patiently asked him endless questions in the hope that he might utter some word, _any _word at all. For their efforts, they received a series of amused, bemused, and at times utterly confused expressions, and on one occasion, a rather long and loud burp. But not once did Michelangelo speak a word.

Splinter watched over the efforts to get Michelangelo to talk. He was proud of his sons' valiant endeavour, but was at the same time still ever-concerned to see that Michelangelo was not able to speak. He knew that sooner or later, the three boys would grow tired to trying to get their brother to talk, and was not surprised when, after four days, the three went back to playing, having apparently accepted that Michelangelo was not yet meant to speak . Splinter understood that they were young and was surprised that their attentions had spanned so far. He knew that he was on his own now, as far as trying to get Michelangelo to talk went.

Or so he thought.

One turtle had not given up hope. He secretly plotted to get Michelangelo to talk, but kept his plans a secret. Splinter would not approve. Thus, Leonardo would not approve. And Donatello would pick apart his plans, highlighting every flaw. So, Raphael was on his own.

Late into the night, Raphael quietly woke Michelangelo up and dragged him out of bed.

"Hey, Mikey, we're goin' for a walk," he declared, once out of earshot of the others. "You wanna come, or do you wanna go tell-tale to Splinter?"

Michelangelo said nothing.

"And we're goin' outside the lair, too. Still wanna come?"

Michelangelo shrugged his shoulders, but followed Raphael anyway. Well, Raphael thought to himself, so far the first part had not worked - Michelangelo decided not to go and tell Splinter. So, he began to carry out his action, and led his brother outside the lair. He shone his somewhat dim torch down the dark sewer tunnels, casting eerie shadows over the area.

"D'ya know why we're goin' for a walk?"

Michelangelo shook his head.

"'Cause there's a sewer monster out here someplace," Raphael told him, making the story sound as dramatic as he could. "And we're gonna find him! And d'ya what this sewer monster likes to eat best?"

Michelangelo shook his head again, a look of fear beginning to creep across his face.

"He likes to eat turtles best! And big rats too, for dessert!" Raphael shone his torch up to Michelangelo's face, and enjoyed the fear he saw in his brother's eyes. He kept telling himself that the main aim of the exercise was to get Michelangelo to talk, but scaring him silly at the same time was just an added bonus.

Despite enjoying Michelangelo's unease, Raphael couldn't help but frown. Surely, Michelangelo should have said something by then. Even just an attempt at a word would have been encouraging. But no, he thought to himself sadly, it was hopeless. If stories of sewer monsters wouldn't get his brother to speak, then it was pretty clear that nothing would. He decided he would spin out the story of the sewer monster for a few more minutes, before turning back and heading home quickly to avoid being caught missing by Splinter. All four turtles had learnt from an early age that it took a lot of stealth to evade Splinter and not be caught doing anything naughty.

"So, we gotta save Leo and Donny and Master Splinter from the sewer monster," Raphael continued, only half-heartedly this time, having come to the conclusion that Michelangelo was destined for a life of not speaking. "But he might have gone home already, y'know? Maybe his Mom wants him home, it's prob'ly past his bedtime, and..."

At that moment, Raphael's torch flickered and the bulb died, leaving the two young turtles in pitch black. Raphael gasped, and began to smack the side of his torch to try and get it to work again.

"Mikey? Are you here? Don't move," he commanded, trying in vain to make his torch work again.

A second later, it came to life, and light shone in the small space around them once again. Raphael sighed with relief, and then looked beside him just in time to watch the splash as he brother fell into the ice-cold, dirty sewer water.

"Mikey!" Raphael screamed, watching in horror as he brother was swept along with the current.

Michelangelo finally surfaced, and gasped for air. "Raph!" He called out, before his head was dragged under again.

"I'm comin', Mikey!" Raphael cried back, running along beside where Michelangelo was being swept away. A few feet in front of him, he saw a fairly thin sewer pipe running a little way above the surface of the water. Putting all of his energy into his sprint, he reached it and climbed onto it. He hung upside with one leg over each side of the pipe, crossing his ankles at the top for support. He let his arms hang, and prayed that he would be able to grab his brother and not slip off the pipe himself.

"Get my arms!" Raphael called out, gritting his teeth as he prepared to grab his brother.

Michelangelo reached up and clutched one of Raphael's wrists with his wet hand. Raphael grabbed his brother's other hand before he slipped, and hung onto him for a second. Slowly, he used all his strength to pull his brother out of the water. Once mostly free of the strong tide, Mikey could climb up the pipe and crawl back onto dry land, where Raphael followed him.

Both turtles lay on the sewer floor, rasping and gasping for breath. Finally, Michelangelo had recovered. He threw his arms around his brother and said, "Fank you, Raph!"

Raphael did not know what surprised him more, the random hug, or the fact that his brother had spoken to him. "You talked," he murmured. "You, you said my name! My name was your first word! You can talk, Mikey!"

Michelangelo smiled, happy to see that his brother was pleased, and was not telling him off for falling into the sewer. "Raph! Raph, Raph!" He kept saying the word over and over again, seeing the elation that it brought to his brother's face.

"Wait 'til Master Splinter sees you can talk!" Raphael cried with joy. At that moment, he didn't care that he had broken his Master's Number One rule, which was sneaking out of the lair. He didn't care that he had irresponsibly almost caused his brother to drown. And he didn't care that he wouldn't most probably be grounded for a good two months. Michelangelo could talk, and that was all that mattered to him.

"C'mon, Mikey, let's go home before you get a cold," Raphael said, still grinning from ear to ear as he led his now shivering brother back down the sewer tunnel.

"Okay, Raph," Michelangelo replied, following his big brother home.

* * *


End file.
